Five by Five, Boss
by onyxwaterfall
Summary: Therapy doesn't move Faith, nor does it improve her. Her therapist suggests a journal. Her life...the way she tells it.As always comments appreciated very much, anything you wanna say, let me know even if its constructive.
1. It's The Opening Up, That Counts

**Title: **Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer: **Please don't sue; purely for entertainment. The characters I created are mine. So steal my idea, or 'borrow' without my permission, and I will be the one to sue.  
**Pairings:** None (at the moment)  
**Feedback: **Always, please =)  
**Rating: **R for language and talk of adult nature

* * *

Part 1 – It's The Opening Up, That Counts

Miss gave me this notebook and pen couple a weeks ago. Told me I had to write down all my feelings after our 'sessions.' They told me I had to do this program thing, part of the whole scheme of being in here. I have to go see this shrink twice a week so she can suss out what the deal is with me.

First I told em to go fuck themselves.

Then I got bored, staring at these grey walls, wondering what else the hell I could do to pass the time. So I picked up this stupid book and started writing. And here I am.

I just had a session couple hours ago. Pretty much the same thing as last time happened. Not that I'm being difficult, but, why the hell does everyone wanna know my shit?

We've only had like, five sessions in total, last three was with a group, some sort of 'rehab' practice. We all had to address the group and tell them why we're fucked up. I just laughed at how pathetic it was. Didn't bother showin' up to two of 'em. Then got told I had to go.

Told 'em 'Why the fuck should I?' and they said it might help me to 'admit' that I have a problem. I told 'em I was an accidental murderer, not a fuckin' drunk.

They asked me if it would help if I had private discussions and not 'group discussions.' They got a 'yes' off of my shrugging, fuck knows how. So I had my first one, Monday. Today's Thursday. Next week I got 'em Tuesday and Friday.

I gots a feeling they're gonna tell me to start going back to those stupid group discussions. You should see some of the fucked up shit they got goin' down there. Psychotic-mental-catatonic shits who don't have a fuckin' clue what the hell they're doin'. You got, users who been to rehab seven times and still fucked up, even more than the last time. You got people who've attempted to commit suicide cos they didn't wanna get caught after killing someone else.

Then there's me. I'm a bent Slayer – I used to protect the world from all forms of evil until I turned psychotic and started killing and maiming and torturing people.

So anyways. Back to today's session. My shrink (Chiara) told me that these sessions were all about learning about myself and opening up to help me improve as a person. I thought, 'What the fuck?' But she told me I would get used to the sappy idea soon enough.

This session she introduced herself (again) as if thinking I had short-term memory loss. I told her I was Faith, the Slayer, and she laughed. I just looked at her. She told me she thought there was 'a lot of work' to do with me. I told her to piss off. She said I was charming. And I said, 'Yeah, that's the way I treat every pansy I see.'

Don't think she liked me much. She said being un-cooperative wouldn't really get me anywhere, cos I had another twenty-five years in here at least. She started talking about what we'd have to do in these sessions and she'd be checking on my behaviour, to see if these sessions were actually doing anything.

She started with my childhood today. Asked me if I had a lot of friends as I was growing up, what my domestic situation was like. For a moment I thought I might actually start talking. But hell, I couldn't. It'd taken me so long to suppress it; bringing it all back up was something I never planned on doing.

I told her it was shit, and that that was all she needed to know. She said it wasn't about her _needing _to know, it was about me needing to talk about it. For some fucking reason she thought I needed to talk about it. Look where the fuck it got me before. Then she went into saying how talking about things helped to get it out of my system, and writing things down too. Then she asked if I'd been writing in this stupid journal and I told her to shove it.

She continued, telling me it 'helped' to let go of the past. I told her I thought I had fucking-well done.

Since we didn't really get anywhere with her preach about childhood, she told me to write it down and she'd read it later.

Like fuck she will.

But then I sat down, didn't I. Got out this book she gave me on 'Day 1.' Now I'm scribbling. So I might as well talk childhood.

I must have been about six. Goody-fucking-little two shoes. Always good with my work, quiet, never picking fights. And I had this one friend who was pretty much the same as me only difference being that her parents weren't drunks. Or if they were they hid it better than mine.

Shannon. She had long dark hair, pretty similar to mine now. She was Hispanic, her parents were from Cuba I think. Her pops was some huge lawyer dude and I dunno about her mom. They lived in this huge fuck-off mansion about the size of this penitentiary if not larger. She had everything; a wing of the house to herself, a swimming pool, huge back yard.

I must've known her for around five or six years before she and her family took off. Never had a clue where they went, just up-ed and left one day. Shan said she'd call but never did. She was my best friend. We did everything together, mostly I hung out at her house, cos…well…the state a mine was an embarrassment.

She got my problems though. I didn't have to tell her much, she could see the bruises and shit. And when she'd find me bawling in the bathroom.

She never actually asked what the deal was with my parents. Why they beat on me and shit. She just told me she was there for me and we could get through it together.

One time I went to her house, as usual bawling, my bag over my shoulder. My parents had been fighting, like, physically and I couldn't take it. I knew either my mom or dad would get pissed at me for some reason, say something like they wished I'd never been born.

I stayed at hers and I told her everything. But she never asked what it was; she just listened.

So here's the deal with my parents: both dead, as far as I know. My pops was involved in some sort of drive-by, something like that. I know it was deliberate, he was involved in some really deep shit that he couldn't get himself out; at the time I was too young to understand half the shit it was but it's been in my mind so long that I figured it out. And plus when they were both yelling at the top of their lungs about his 'business' and I'd listen nearby, or try not to, more like.

So that was my dad. Involved in some drugs and shit. Finally caught up with him. Left me and my mum. My mum was unemployed, as far as I know she'd never had a job. She started drinking heavily after dad died. She loved him; I know that much. As much as a fuck he was to her, he loved her back. He never actually beat on her in the way that he became a wife-beater; my mum was more the violent one, he just…struck back. But he _did _beat on her. If that makes any sense.

So when he died, he left her and me, by ourselves, no money, no support. We were fucked. That was when I was thirteen years old. I got myself a job doing a paper round and got a couple of bucks a week, nothing much. My mum started working at a bar – I wouldn't have been surprised if she was drinkin' the pumps dry. Every minute spent at home was a minute for drink. You'd see bottles of stuff lying all around the fucking place, and when I tried to clean up the poor excuse for our house, it only got messed up again, with her making so much fucking mess with her fucking drink.

She kept on beating on me. She'd pick fights when she was pissed off with whatever it was – even if it had nothing to do with me.

By that time most of the kids knew to keep away from me; apparently I was trouble. But then I met this kid, Michelle. I guess you could say she was like me, introverted, kept to herself. But one day I was sitting on the grass doing some work and some girls came along and tried to shove me around. I think she was sitting on the field as well. She came up and literally knocked one of the girls off their feet. Tae Qwon Do – she called it. Nine years, apparently. She told them if they bothered me again she'd pop their necks from their shoulders.

By this time I had no fuckin' idea what 'Tae Qwon Do' was, but it was pretty cool. She told me she'd seen me around school. She was in the grade above and had seen the trouble I'd been getting.

I didn't say much, pretty much just thanks. But then she started lookin' out for me and eventually we started hangin' out. I asked her what the hell this 'Tae Qwon Do' was, and she told me all about it. Fighting technique. I asked her if she could teach me.

I guess that's when the fighting started. When I used to train, I just used to let go. She told me I was a natural, and a quick-study. That I already had a lot of strength. Now I know why. Then, I didn't.

Then Michelle moved away. Actually…she got busted. For…surprise, poppin' someone's neck. Her exes apparently, for sleeping with her best friend. I was too scared to go visit her cos I had no idea about prison and shit, and women in the penitentiary system freaked me out. But she wrote me one time, telling me she was sorry she couldn't look out for me anymore. I wanted so bad to write back but I didn't know what to tell her and I was still scared about it.

In the meantime my mum was still the loser she'd always been, and I finally had enough and just ran one day. I was fifteen, I think, and I was lucky enough to find myself a job in a corner shop. The owner took me in, said he'd take my rent from my wages and I agreed. Fair enough. It was better than home.

But something made me wanna go back, so bad. I had no idea what. But I found myself treading that path leading me down my road, and all the noises came back to me. The yelling, and screaming and the sound of glass shattering. The gunshots (that really were gunshots). The dogs barking. Everything you don't want in your neighbourhood.

When I reached my house I knew I shouldn't have gone back. The place was almost completely trashed. Burnt out. How the fuck, I had no idea. And I just knew my mum was in there when it happened. No one had to tell me. I didn't wanna know, but I already did.

So I ran again. I remembered I had an uncle down in San Pedro so I got on a bus down there, hoping to find him.

Shit.

Warden Jay's just opened up my cell, we gotta go eat. I'll finish up later.


	2. Nightmares Never Haunted Me

**Title: **Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer: **Please don't sue; purely for entertainment. The characters I created are mine. So steal my idea, or 'borrow' without my permission, and I will be the one to sue.  
**Pairings:** None (at the moment)  
**Feedback: **Always, please =)  
**Rating: **R for language and talk of adult nature

* * *

Part 2 - Nightmares Never Haunted Me

It must have been pretty close to dawn because I could just sense it. But when I sat up the temperature of my body was definitely out-of-sync with the rest of the room. It was November. Cold. I was freaking well boiling my ass off. But my body was covered in a cold sweat.

The dreams never bothered me. I'd never really had a nightmare in my life. Cept those 'Slayer' ones. But…I didn't really see them as nightmares.

Mostly I dreamed of being a kid again. The arguments between my parents, the fighting and yelling and screaming. And how I'd hide on the stairs or in the next room.

And sometimes I had this dream of what happened to my dad when he died. I never really understood it because I was too young, but it was pretty straightforward. Gun. Trigger. Bullet. Him. I hated how I could hear him breathing, and then I couldn't. Like…I was _there _with him when he died. Like my subconscious form was watching, but I wasn't _actually _there.

I could hear it after I woke up. His breathing. The gunshot that killed him. The thud when his body came into contact with the ground.

My mind must have been vibrating in and out of my body because every other moment I knew what I was doing. But I didn't quite get how I ended up standing at the wall, clutching at it. The grey walls were ice cold; then I couldn't feel them. Then they were ice-cold. And it was like this for a good few minutes.

My knees bent beneath me and I sank to the floor, even colder. Through this stupid jump suit I could feel the friggin' ice cold floor. I didn't care, though. I just needed to get a grip. Usually the tears were involuntary. They were this time. And even as I tried keepin' em back with the sleeves of my clothes, they still poured out. I wondered how I had enough liquid in my body to cry this much.

Morning came a couple hours later and I was woken by Warden Priestley. Breakfast. I was in that same position, up against the wall, my legs beneath me. They were nauseated by their own tingling sensation. Cramp.

She asked me if I was feeling alright. I ignored her. Like she cared anyway.

Not that I was loner inside, but I didn't really mix with people. Mostly I'd just get on with my own business without any hassle. I guess people kept away from me ever since this ballsy chick, thinkin' she owns everyone's fucking business tried to take it with me and I knocked her ass off her body. The guards came and split us up, and I told them straight off it wasn't me startin' shit. They told me they knew, they say it happen. They put her in isolation for a couple of days and she said she wasn't 'finished' with me. I told her to leave it alone.

The guards weren't so harsh on me; I don't know why. I guess I haven't given them reason to be – other than murdering multiple members of the human race. But give or take a few people here; we're all the same.

Except for of course the fact that I'm a Slayer. And that if I wanted out, I'd get OUT. Probably shouldn't be writing this in here. Hold up.

So where the hell was I after that?

Oh yeah. Mixing with people. I've pretty much been a loner all my life. Other than Shannon and Michelle. The only real friends I ever had. Other than that I was on my own. People were sometimes there but never really got it.

They had all their fancy cars and their fancy clothes and partied and shopped all the time, but I couldn't afford to do all that. I had to look after myself to survive. After of course I left my uncles. Uncle Dan. Well he was pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me. But I had to leave cos…that's when I got this stupid calling. I don't even know how they found me. Someone just showed up one day, presumably some peeps from the Council, told me I had to go somewhere. Uncie Dan weren't too keen on the idea, said it seemed ballsy but I wanted to know.

I keep thinking, what would've happened if I hadn't gone with 'em? Would they kept have comin' back? Or would they have found someone different?

My Watcher took me in, looked after me and trained me, and I gotta say it was pretty cool. She reminded me so much of Michelle in so many ways. She had so much determination and knew for some reason that I had this 'power.' But that only lasted a few months. This demon-vamp thing, Kakistos, killed her and told me I would be next. But I wounded him enough to get away for a while.

I'm just thinkin', my therapist is gonna think I'm some sort of head-case (it wouldn't surprise her probably, ninety-nine per-cent of the population in here IS) if she ever reads this shit. Who cares anyway. It's all true. They all say I went psycho-Slayer, anyways. The gang back in Sunnydale, I mean.

So I ran. To Sunnydale. Apparently I was way out of my league and not needed at all cos when I got there word was that there was already a Slayer there. At the Hellmouth. And surprise.

Prettier, blonder…and a hell of a lot smarter than me. If that didn't put me out of my place for a while then what did. Buffy Anne Summers. She was definitely alive…_definitely _kicking. My call must've been a mistake.

I first met her outside this local club, the Bronze and I was doin' this vamp when she showed up, so I borrowed her stake, make sure to make a point of 'needing her.' I dunno why, it just seemed to be my 'thing.'

Anyways. Plan for today. I got some time to do some weight-training. I always kept up the training, for the simple reason that this is L.A. Some say the Second Hellmouth. Never know what 'unusual activities' are goin' down here. Might come for me. Like Kaskistos.


	3. Talking Tirade

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment. The characters I created are mine. So steal my idea, or 'borrow' without my permission, and I will be the one to sue. Otherwise, characters remain property of Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox  
**Pairings: **None (at the moment), possible Wes/Faith  
**Feedback:** Always, please )  
**Rating:** R for language and talk of adult nature

**Note: **I'm so sorry I haven't updated in ages, I've been so busy with work and school etc. I'm now trying to get back on track, so things may get back up to speed again. Hope you enjoy it! Please comment!

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Part 3 – Talking Tirade

That fucking bitch. What the fuck IS it about me? Do I have 'beat me the fuck up' tattooed across my forehead?

Some fuckin' skank just came up to me, told me the weights were fuckin' well hers. I told her like hell they were. She wouldn't have none of it. What is up with half the fucking people here? Thinkin' territories all theirs. They can push anyone around.

Anyway.

So there's me, and I'm liftin' like twenty-fives or whatever (not the point…actually…). So this soddin' bitch comes up to me and asks me what the fuck I'm doin' and I state the obvious, and tell her I'm training. She tells me to back up now or that there'd be some trouble. So there's me, thinking, 'Since when did these metal, shiny, soon-to-be-making-contact-with-your-face objects have your name plastered across them?' And she's waiting for me to get up (I forgot to mention this chick's like ten foot bigger than me), so I just carry on, and she starts yelling abuse, asking me if I'm deaf or dumb or somethin'. So I look up at her, making it priority to NOT say anything, and continue training. I wasn't gonna move, why the fuck should I?

So she picks up a weight, and I thank fuck for my reflexes because without warning she swung the weight my way. So there's me, still holding my twenty-fives, and I got this high-temper thing goin' on that I've pretty much had since I went 'psycho-Slayer' so naturally I'm not givin' it a thought before I smack her in the chest, and then she's gone flying backwards and I'm thinking, 'Shit…' cos I don't want people to know – like, super-Slayer-strength shit – so I drop the fucking weight, start walkin' away tryin' to believe it's over.

Like hell it was. The fuckin' bitch has picked up my weights and come charging at me with 'em, and I got smacked on my freaking angel bone with it. So I'm screamin' abuse back at her (and slightly worried that bones may have been cracked) and I turn and back hand her, which again sends her flying. I couldn't fucking well believe what was happening. Usually when I got started on I would just leave it. But this bitch had a PROBLEM. By this time the guards had seen and come up to me and dragged me away, and I yelled cos he grabbed my bad angel bone, and he's taking me back to my cell while I'm tryin' a tell him it wasn't me who started shit.

He wouldn't have none of it. Not 'til we got back to my cell. I told him I thought it was broken. He said he'd arrange for me to go to the prison hospital to get it sorted, and then added, 'If I were you, I'd keep away from her. She could do some serious damage if you give her reason enough to.' I was gonna chime in cursing with full steam when he added. 'I KNOW it wasn't your fault, Faith. But there are people in this system who don't like you for reasons you can't help. So best thing to do is keep away from them. Don't get into trouble. I know you're a good girl, Faith. But it's times like these we see how dangerous you could be, if we let you.'

He just left. Said he'd be back soon when transport was ready. I can hear someone coming towards my cell. Looks like we're goin'.

- - -

Turns out it's fuckin' well cracked. Doc tried to plaster me up I said no fuckin' way. After a lot of aggro they told me not to use it and that they'd give me some painkillers.

It doesn't matter how high the fucking dosage is, the pain doesn't go away.

I've pretty much been in my cell ever since. Fucked. I got a fucking ruined angel bone and pain that's penetrating my whole body.

It was supposed to be visitor's day today. I don't get many visits from Angel cos he's so busy but he told me he'd try and come soon. I'm lucky he's supporting me, here. I've screwed him up so much and screwed over so many people, who in their right mind would wanna trust me?

I remember a while ago when I tried to turn Angel again. He didn't trust me from the beginning…he's seen so much, he knows it all inside out, back to front. He was a smart for NOT trusting me.

Enough of the self-hate. He told me I had to believe in myself for anybody else to. Start doing things right and learning from everyday experience. I was about to let the mouth run miles but I stopped for a moment, just thinking about his words. Righting all my wrongs was something I could've tried but instead I further wronged my…_wrongs. _I tried to kill Buffy, stole her body, tortured Wesley, a guy that was gonna give my to the Council to be killed…of course I was pissed but…I deserved it.

No amount of apology would right the wrongs I'd done to all these people. The only people I knew. The only people that kept me from sanity. Above everything, the only people that I could potentially fall in love with.

I've never been in love. I don't care what anyone says, love is something that clearly doesn't associate itself with my heart. Or…lack of heart. I came close though. I don't think it was that kind of love, though.

Buffy Anne Summers. I had a connection with her, we were sisters. Bonded together by a force that only we could understand. I tried to convince myself it wasn't love. But no matter how much I tried I always ended up thinking that I did love her. She was my only sibling, the only family I had left. And look what I did-

I got dinner. Later.

- - -

I didn't sleep last night. Mostly because every time I tried to lie down I was reminded of the broken bones in my fucking back. So I decided to write. Keep myself from insanity.

I was thinking about what the hell I'm gonna do to pass the time, now. I can't do any work for a while, not til my back's better. Can't do weights. I tried doing some sit-ups but it made the pain kick back in.

You know what's weird?

One time, Buffy said to me, 'All this killing, and you're afraid to die?' I'm actually not. I never realised that. When she asked me that all I could think of was how much I wanted to pound on her face until it was a brand new shape. But since here I've had nothing BUT reflection time. And I stumbled across when she said that to me.

Life never really meant much to me. Not like I had a proper one. No family, no home. I just floated around, slaying wherever help was needed. Doing what I was 'chosen' to do. But who the hell would miss me if I was gone? Would anybody notice?

My watcher was killed…my mum, my dad, they were pathetic fucks, probably from day one. Then I gots to REALLY thinking. Is it in my genes? I'm I turning out like my parents? Sad as fuck losers, because it's heredity? Fuck. Perhaps my turning 'psycho' wasn't 'turning.' It's in my genes.

I never wanted to live a life where I was a pointless fuck that no one cared about. I told myself I'd rather die than end up a nobody. But becoming a Slayer made me a 'somebody,' for me. Until I realised why I was slaying.

To get rid of the pain. To block out those visions of childhood that oh-so-often-ly popped into my head.

I had no REAL reason to slay. I just did it because of that pain. It blocked it out. It never occurred to me that people needed my help because I was the only one around to help, or because I was meant to help. I was just there, a Slayer in the midst of plentiful evil who would kick it's ass six feet under and beyond, then go party, drink and fuck til the night was out.

People like Giles and Wesley and have actually studied to be Watchers and devote their lives to battling evil and guiding Slayers. But me. I didn't ask for this, but it was given to me. And I didn't say 'thank you,' because I didn't see it as a gift. I just saw it as a strength. Just a strength.

And it made me no more of a 'somebody.' I was still that useless nobody that everyone forgot about, or even worse, tried to get rid of when she didn't stick to her duties.

The thought of dying scares me, sure. But the thought of dying because you aren't needed, strangely enough…doesn't scare me.

I wonder why the fucking hell that is.

I'm not gonna be able to get my arm back into proper shape cos of this 'accident' now. I'm fucked. If I use it too much it could break it all over again, cos I refused proper bandaging and physio. 


	4. Awaken My Senses

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment. The characters I created are mine. So steal my idea, or 'borrow' without my permission, and I will be the one to sue. Otherwise, characters remain property of Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox  
**Pairings: **None (at the moment), possible Wes/Faith  
**Feedback:** Always, please  
**Rating:** R for language and talk of adult nature

Thanks to everyone that's been following-up this fic! Thanks so much, I hope you continue to read it and enjoy it! I'll try to update as often as I can! Please comment, I love to hear your opinions. And also let me know if you think Wes and Faith is a good idea...

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Part 3 – Awaken My Senses 

Ten minutes. That's all I have. 'Use the time wisely,' I told myself. But as soon as I got there, the time slipped away faster than I would ever be able to comprehend.

- - -

'It's been a while.'

I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I don't think I even realised he'd said anything. Until finally I realised he was repeatedly calling my name.

'Hey.'

'And we're back…' His sobriety always astounded me. Actually…what the hell am I saying, he was never this sombre. Always panicking, stressed out, worried, whatever. Screaming. But now. Now he was sombre, calm. His eyes were piercing, it looked like he had a real purpose. And if that was to fuck my brains out I'd gladly take him up on that offer. He looked so good.

'It's been a while,' I uttered, a chuckle threatening to spirit.

He nodded. I noticed he had gum. He never chewed gum. And…stubble.

'Angel couldn't come, so I told him I'd fill in.'

I thought about what he said for a second. 'You didn't have to-'

'Believe me, I know that.'

Silence. Not like I didn't deserve that comment.

'So…how are you?' I asked him, my voice playing the nervous game, where it manages above a whisper that almost immediately lets him know that I'm shaking inside.

He nodded and his mouth made a little edge. 'I'm alright.' He sucked in a breath, the receiver pressed to his ear, clutched by his right hand, tight.

I couldn't help but notice his lack of speech. I didn't particularly expect for him to have anything to say but…if this was how I was spending my ten minutes…God, I'm such an ungrateful bitch.

'Wes, I, er…' I furrowed my eyebrows, thinking of a correct way to say what I was thinking I should perhaps say. '…I know an apology would probably do nothing,' I tried. I muttered so low I don't think he heard me. Though when I looked up to check if he was looking at me, I noticed that intensity in his eyes piercing through me. God, that guy was starting to resemble the posterity of Angel. 'I'm so sorry.'

I held my breath, ready to take any response I was given. Hell I'd be grateful for a facial expression. But none. Not for the first few moments. 'When you came here I told myself I'd never see or associate myself with you again. If someone…if you should be associated with human…so vicious, so full of hate, so _in_humane, so…screwed up could deliver such pain intentionally, out of sheer pleasure…then they should be lucky that they are still breathing, and that a monster more deadlier than themselves hasn't _tortured, _maimed or eaten them…out of pleasure.'

'I was scared…'

'I know, Faith. No one knew how much anger you had inside of you. I'm just glad that you burst sooner rather than later. Who knows what more damage you could've caused.'

His voice was so painfully monotonous the entire time he had been speaking to me. Emotionless, expressionless, he sat before me. Doing Angel this favour.

I didn't realise I was crying until the teardrops fell to my resting hand upon the counter.

'I deserved that.' I swallowed and continued. 'But I really appreciate you coming to see me. I never thought you'd ever wanna do this for me. Thank you.'

Silence. 'I'm doing this for Angel.'

I only caught a glimpse of Wes's expression before the guard told me I had to wrap it up, but when I looked back round, he had already put down the receiver and had begun to walk away.

- - -

I couldn't remember the last time I cried this much. The tears just kept on flowing, on and on, until I was ran dry.

I had never felt this hated in…forever. Compared to how much my parents hated me, whatever. I knew Wesley probably wished me dead but I'd never…

The look in his eyes when I sat down to talk to him. His face…it was as if I was talking to and empty Wesley. Like, he'd drained himself of emotions. He was so…cold. To me. Ice cold.

I wouldn't leave my cell again today, I didn't care about dinner, I wasn't hungry. All I could do was think of what the hell I'd done to him to make him react this way towards me. Everything I'd done I'd done out of pure evilness. I was evil. Wretched. Disgusting. I deserved everything I got and more.

A part of me was relieved he hadn't said he hoped they were torturing me as bad as I had to him inside here. God, what the hell was I doing?

My mind flashed back to that night in the apartment. Wesley was tied to the chair. And me?

'All these little cuts and bruises - just bring out the mother in me.'

I took his face in my hand and slapped his cheek.

'Come on.Now, now, don't poop out on me, damn it!Otherwise this all just going to be over too fast, and you'll be dead and I'll be - on, Wesley!Where is that stiff upper lip?'

I let him go and continued talking, every word just that little bit more painful than the other.

'Now, we've only done one of the five basic torture groups.We've done blunt- but that still leaves sharp, cold, hot and loud.'

It echoed through my mind, every single word. Every single word I said to him, and every single word he said to me. Including that I was a piece of shit. No surprises. It's all true. I was a shit.

Wesley came running out of the house and I sobbed hopelessly into the only man that had ever tried to save me.

'Angel please, just do it. Just do it. Just kill me. Just kill me.'

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me against him, the rain drenching both of us through, the cold becoming physical as well as mental.

I remember sinking to my knees, the tears and the sobs such a mesh of overwhelming energy that I just couldn't control it anymore.

I heard him begin to say to me, 'Shh.It's all right.It's okay.I'm here.I'm right here.Shh.' I have no idea how long he repeated this mantra. Time had slipped from me.

I'd put Wesley through that painful ordeal because I was so screwed up, because I knew I would get a kick out of it. And they called me a Slayer. That's right. I slay. A killer. But I'm supposed to be a Slayer, not a killer. Buffy could establish that line, why couldn't I?

I was stupid. That was the only solution. I refused to learn and therefore I remained stupid. If this was the consequence of refusing to learn then goddamnit, I should've let Buffy fucking-well finish me off when she had the chance.

- - -

I thought I was going to throw up from the amount of times Chiara had been circling me. She'd been rambling on about how she'd noticed how depressed I'd gotten ever since, 'the accident.' She suggested meditation, and gave me this book to look at. I felt like using it to knock her out (or perhaps the bump would make her voice less irritating).

She asked me how I was feeling and I told her the same as yesterday, the day before that, and the day before _that, _when she last asked me. She gave me this, 'What ever are we going to do with you?' look and I detached myself from all expression, thus, remaining expressionless.

I gave in to the pain of this friggin' arm that I cried so much. Normally if I'd broken or dislocated something, give it a few days, maybe more, maybe less and I'd be right back on track. Super-Slayer-strength, thing. Perhaps the 'Powers that Be' had paralysed that…making me feel every ounce of pain delivered to me.

I started doing physio, must've been three weeks after it broke. The doctors said it healed really fast, and I scoffed at that (see previous comment). This was the slowest-healing broken bone I'd EVER had. And it fucking well hurt. I told the doctors, hook me up with a punch-bag and a bottle of J-D and it'd heal even faster. He chuckled at me. Sighed. That was about it.

Seeing as that little request wasn't successful, I decided to give that book a try. I read up on some of the meditation techniques and how exactly they helped to 'alleviate' mental, physical and emotional distress.

So I was sittin' there, crossing my legs, resting my hands on my knees as it said I should in the book. Closed my eyes, listened to the sounds around me…luckily it was a couple of hours past lights out so sound levels were low. No disturbance. I listened to the thoughts in my mind and looked at the pictures my mind ran through me.

I guess now would be an appropriate time to mention I didn't share a cell with anybody. I'd probably get the shit beaten out of me if anyone found out I was some sort of tai chi, meditating, new age…

I have no fucking idea what the hell just happened, but whatever it was managed to throw me half way across the cell onto the floor. Onto my BAD arm. Fuck…

I cried out in pain, clutched my arm. The fuck was that?

I looked behind me, just to check there was no supernatural force behind me or anywhere else in the room, accompanying me on my 'meditating travels.'

Sat back on my bed. Got back to where I was (cross-legged, hands on knees…thinking, deep thinking). Then I felt something. Like…some sort of warm energy. In the centre of my stomach. I could feel it building up, like starting to grow inside of me, as if it was spreading. It felt…good…comforting. The non-threatening kind. And before I knew it I was across the floor again, this time fully conscious quickly enough to stop myself from falling on my arm. This was weird. What was this energy and where was it coming from? I looked over to the spot where I was sitting. I ran my fingers back through my hair. Stumped.


	5. Connections

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment.  
**Pairings: **PossibleWes/Faith  
**Feedback:** Always  
**Rating:** R for language etc

* * *

Part 5 – Connections

I'd been trying my hardest to get myself back in that frame of mind, from that night a few weeks ago. I couldn't do it. Chiara said my stress levels were lighter than usual though. I didn't even know there were levels. Like, one, two and three? If so, does three mean that your stress is bad and will make you feel like a squeezing balloon, just about ready to pop?

My arm got better. I tried to do some weights a couple of days ago but physio told me to cool it for a couple more months, then get started (if completely necessary – which of course it is) with small weights. Smallest available. Fuck that. Stubborn as hell, I'd always been. I got straight in there, with what I was comfortable with, and started lifting. I think my shoulder popped out of it's socket. I have no idea how. Normally something would've had to have bent it in the opposing direction but NOO. Fuck that. What the fuck was up with me? All of a sudden I was like snap, crackle and fucking pop? Miss 'I'm so Brittle', so Break me…or Pop me, whichever suits your fancy. I hate this shit. I had to use the wall to get it back in. Method hurt. Normally I'd grab someone else, use them.

Use them. God it's such a familiar term in my vocabulary. It's all I ever did with the Scoobs. Use them. Then hurt 'em. Pretty much one by one.

Once Buffy told me we could'a been solid buds…hurts to think just how much that could've been real. But jealousy got the better of me.

And now look at me. A broken, brittle, excuse for a…

'BITCH!' I heard some low-pitched chick's voice from across the bay. Pushing some little, VERY little girl around. Not much smaller than myself. Around the same size as Buffy.

I got up from my bed and walked out of the cell, listening to this big-assed bitch push around this little girl, noticeably, intentionally. 'Hey!' I called from the floor above. Thank god I had some time to get ready to talk to her, rather than her turning round and smacking me dead on in the face with her man-sized fist.

She'd pretty much begun to tower me and I'd sucked in a breath. 'Why don't you leave her alone?'

She scoffed at me, as if shunning my comment, in fact, she probably was. Immediately she swung her arm back, ready to take a swing at me, when I grabbed her wrist with my hand and shoved it backwards. 'Don't even bother. You try and beat the fuck out of someone half your size, for what? Why don't you just leave it?'

I looked her in the eye and saw how she seemed to be trying to pretend she was tough. She raised an outstretched finger to my face, leaving mere centimetres between itself and my face. 'YOU…are askin' for it. Don't disturb me again, and DON'T get in my business. My business is my business. Step into it and my fist will be doin' a little bit more than connecting with your pretty little face. So don't push it.'

'Or what? I'll get a "piece of you?" You'll "knock me into shape?" What, huh? You think I'm scared of you?' If there was anything you learned from being in prison it was that a guard was never too far away. By this point he'd approached us both and she'd backed down from me. He begun taking her away, but not before stealing a glance my way (and I think I should mention that he smiled a little).

I heard her mutter to the guard to "get the fuck off her" as they walked in the opposite direction and I looked down at that girl on the ground floor. She began walking away and I hurried down the stairs to catch up with her. 'Hey,' I called, trying to catch her attention.

She continued walking and again I called for her. I caught up with her and reached for her arm, but hell when I did I immediately wished I hadn't done.

That feeling.

She glared into my eyes a moment and I let go of her. 'You ok?'

'Leave me the fuck alone,' she spat and continued walking.

Well excuse me for helping.

Seems you do anyone a favour around here, and the last thing they'll do is appreciate it. Like I can talk, though. I had a chance to have a perfectly satisfactory life and I pushed it away faster than I could think about grabbin' hold of it.

But this chick, I dunno her name, but damn. Miss 'I'm Such A Tough Criminal' started on her. Tried to jump in there, sort shit, but…whatever. She didn't 'need' my help.

I don't care.

It was weird, though. Like…I just…touched her arm, and then this feeling shot right through my body, like, possession or something. Wicked stress, though, knocked me right over (mentally). Must have had that feeling for about an hour. Or what felt like it.

I recognise it from somewhere.

Saw that bitch at dinner. Actin' all 'my posse are gonna show you why you shouldn't mess with me.' God. They're all faces. All of them. But underneath there's the deepest ocean that takes forever to explore.

Just like me. Chiara's all bent-happy on trying to see why I did the things I did. But I'm just…screwed up. A force of (apparent) good put on the earth to fight evil beings. Supernatural beings. But I kinda took it to my own level. Figured there were some things _I _didn't like about the world, and set out to change them.

Me. I didn't like me.

Unfortunately I couldn't stop myself before it was too late. Strength and rage kick in when reason and morale go out of the window. I never saw sense. Instead, I saw the potential of being labelled a killer.

BAD…people would lock me up, treat me as a piece of shit, throw away the key…

GOOD…highly unlikely, but they could realise that the person I killed was bad(IF he _was _bad)

There are so many possibilities I could explore; not like I'm the shrink, though. I couldn't understand it if I tried.

But I wanted to change me. So I set out. And I couldn't even do that right.

It started to get dark, and I decided to sit in my cell and write in this thing. What better to do. I had the idea of writing a letter to Wes…can't pinpoint exactly why. Mostly to apologise, partly to try to soften his opinion of me.

But how could his opinion of me change, when I tried to kill him? I tortured him, and was freakin' happy about it. Why, though? Kicks, perhaps, part of the 'new me,' kind of…but what the hell was I trying to accomplish?

I tried it out…scribbled down a few things I would say to him, given the chance.

Came out a bit like this:

_I'm so sorry I tried to kill you. You're right; I'm an evil shit…I shouldn't have tried to kill you. I wanted needed to change. I couldn't stand me. So I tried to change._

_But it turns out I didn't really understand the meaning of the word change. I know that I deserved everything you said to me. It did hurt; I won't lie. I deserved it all. But not you. You didn't deserve my treatment. I got sick, and you were a victim of that._

_I'm sorry I put you through all of what I did. If I could rewind…_

No, you know what? I can't do this. Not right now. Tears sting…confessions burn.

I sat in front of it. Just looking. Must've been about two hours before I moved. But even so it's plainness just dug into me when I turned from it. Huh. What am I talkin' about, plainness.

It took me about five days to get it right.

I finally wrote him a letter. Or made a solid attempt. Trying to explain my fucked up mind and everything I was sorry for. Hoping that maybe he could come back and see me; if he wanted to. Or maybe just reply to the letter.

Like hell, he would. Why the fuck _would _he ever want to associate himself with a loser such as myself? I can't even write a fucking letter of apology. It wouldn't help.

Even so. I posted it. And now I can't stop thinking about it. Been lying on this bed, day after day, refusing treatment again, not eating as much, and hell if I was hungry enough I could eat America. But I didn't.

I worried. I worried my ass off. I stared at the ceiling, and paced up and down the cell, I even tried sit-ups to stop worrying. But I couldn't. Each minute that passed my stomach knotted and unknotted in this vicious cycle because every other second I was reminding myself of how much I'd opened up to Wes in that stupid FUCKING note. I mentioned something about _wanting _to see him again.

I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I enjoyed your visit. Not in some sick, twisted way, like I enjoy being talked at like I AM an animal. I enjoyed seeing your face. I enjoyed listening to you. And I'd be grateful if you decided to visit again sometime.

FUCK. He might think I _like _him. SHIT. I sat up on my bed faster than lighting, cursing under my breath, and running my fingers through my hair. 'Shit…' I said to myself, looking at the railings at the end of my bed.

It wouldn't matter. Because even if it suggested anything, it's not true. I don't like him. Hell no. No fucking way.

Although the stubble had just an eeeeency effect on me. Can't say I could've imagined it would be upon him. But there it was. Boy.


	6. Let it Out

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment.  
**Pairings: **DEFINATE Wes/Faith  
**Feedback:** Always  
**Rating:** R for language, themes etc  
**Author's Note: **I actually can't believe I managed to continue this story cos I had no idea what to do with it, and after I lost everything I'd done with it, I got disheartened and worried that it wouldn't be any good anymore. But today I buckled down and wrote a huge chunk of it and am soooooo excited to show it off! I hope you're still interested and I wanna promise to you that it's gonna be a good one from here on out...but it's not finished yet. I've got some pretty good things in store though, so keep reading and you'll see! Any comments as always are really appreciated.

* * *

Part 6 – Let it Out 

Wes. A bit of a surprise before my eyes considering I'd gotten it into my head from that previous visit that he hated my evil Rogue-Slayer guts.

I could feel the first insult burning its way up my throat, just burnin' to run on him as soon as he pressed the black receiver to his tidy ex-Watcher ear.

And my eyes narrowed as I watched his modestly hidden form approaching me, and I could hear myself thinking what his body was like beneath comfortable jeans and a baggy black turtle neck.

'Doin' Angel another favour, huh?' I practically hissed. Gotta say I don't know why. At least he was trying. But then again, when was I ever grateful for anything?

Who was I kiddin'? My nerves had eased up a fraction just knowing that he came to see me, especially after what I'd said in my letter. Least I didn't scare him off. Perhaps I should've held the thought. He didn't speak for a good minute, just stared straight into my eyes, a slight frown finding its way onto his face and his jaw clenching as I guessed he tried to figure out all the subtext behind those words.

But no reply still, after two, maybe three minutes. Instead, my eyes latched onto his hand, reaching into a pocket inside his jacket. Then the too familiar off-white note paper I'd borrowed from Chiara barely slamming its way onto the table in front of the plexiglass. _Daym. _

I swallowed quickly, my eyes fixed on the note.

'So…urm…' I began, my throat a little scratchy. 'You…read it,' I said, followed by my nervous habit of clearing my throat and leaning back into my seat.

He shrugged simply in reply, but soon opened his stubble-surrounded mouth to speak. 'Made a good read. If you're all for the sentimental crap.'

Didn't take a genius to figure out what he was trying to say. He hated that I was writing him. I knew I shouldn't have.

My eyes drifted up to his as he came to rest his gaze on mine, and I licked over my lips subconsciously. There was something in his expression this time. Rather than blank. More like…worry…or, pity maybe.

'You didn't have to come all the way out here to say that to me, Wes, I would've gotten the message you hated the idea of me writing to you by you not replying.'

'Oh, c'mon. "_I'd be grateful if you decided to visit again sometime_,"' he said flatly. 'I wanted to see if you meant it.'

My forehead creased and scrunched up my face. 'Ey?'

'You and grateful? Should never have to share a sentence together, I wondered if it was legit…'

I raised my eyebrows a moment. 'Oh…' my gaze fell and I pressed my lips together.

There was more silence. Figured he only wanted to make me feel like even more of a shit, then leave; so naturally when I looked up to find him still there I was surprised again.

He shook his head. 'No, Faith,' he begun in that slow and easy way he often did, and I frowned again.

'What?' I asked, almost inaudibly.

'I'm not doing Angel a favour,' he continued. 'This time,' he added, followed by a slight smile.

Woah. Back up. Did he just say he was here, for me! Pretty much. Not for Angel…for me…

I tried to look all unaffected and shit, but ended up tryin' to hide a grin. It faded and I blinked slowly. 'That's nice.'

He nodded and leant an arm upon the table. 'Thought you could use a friendly face.' Wow. What was with him today, makin' with the nice all of a sudden? Not that I didn't appreciate it…made me wanna appreciate the stubble and the rasp in his voice even more.

'A friendly face?' I repeated, sitting up now. 'Sure about the "friendly" part?'

I could see him thinking about it a moment. 'For now.' And there was that gorgeous smile again, reminding me of how his eyes would light up and give me an image of someone who actually enjoyed talkin' to me.

I didn't get a chance to say much else to him as the warden told us to wrap it up and a bunch of people started shifting. And much more to my surprise, even after we seemed okay for a while, he was hangin' up on me, and walkin' away. No goodbye. Just the back of him.

The need to dull out the aching drum of my insides came shortly afterwards and I headed over to the weight room and started immediately on the punch bag, finding no one else at it. _What the hell was that all about? _Him leavin' like that, I mean.

I'd thought for a second there that maybe we were startin' something. But typical of me to fall for something way too close to the start line. I should learn. But it's just that. I _don't_ learn. The time's I guess, the defences go up and the idiot tryin' to get in gives up…cos I won't let 'em. Like Chiara. Like Angel. Like B.

For some reason the thought of her made me punch the bag just a little bit harder and my eyes shot up to the chains coming loose in the ceiling.

Yeah. Talk about dullin' the pain down. Blockin' it out rather with my excessive blows to the punch bag gave it no chance to settle itself after every set of knocks, hence the chains coming loose. But I wasn't gonna show it no mercy. Nah. Instead I found myself pounding fists into it until I was out of breath and my shoulder was caning. The tears were foreign to me and it wasn't until my entire body begun to shake with sobs that I realised how much I was aching. But the punching and the kicking of the bag was different. Wasn't gettin' rid of the pain.

It got worse.

Progressively. Turns out I dislocated my shoulder again. And on top of that Wes didn't come back. Not once. God, I even thought he might. Thought maybe he'd start makin' a thing of it.

I was so stupid to think for even just a second he might care about me. Why would he care about someone who tortured him and tried to kill him? Shit. Sometimes I seriously hate myself. Just cos the words I'd said were true. I _did _do all that stuff.

Chiara would ask me why and hell, even _I _didn't have the answers. She tried to shrink me but I think that's her way of gettin' me to blurt out how everything's so screwed up inside my head. Wouldn't happen. Like said; the defences go up, she ain't gettin' in. But with Wes it was different…like, I swear there was something behind his eyes that day…not just a cold glare, transparent and piercing. It felt kinda warm lookin' at him that day. Like he enjoyed talking to me and smiling at me.

What a sob story. I'm starting to fall for a guy who I tried to kill and now I'm all hurt cos I was wrong about him startin' to care for me. Yeah, that's right. _Starting to fall for him._ What an idiot.

So here I am in my cell, sobbing on my uncomfortable excuse for a bed, and it's becoming a daily routine. I seriously feel as though I'm starting to run out of tears and the energy to cry and I hit the wall beside my bed cos I'm so frustrated with myself. I just don't get it. I don't think I ever did. I open up to the wrong people. Like B. maybe if I had talked to her things could've been different. And openin' up to Angel…well that was the scariest shit ever. The truth, though. I wanted him to kill me. I deserve to die.

I swear to God, I would've done it myself if I wasn't so numb. I deserved it. To hate myself, to want to die, to have my life taken away from me, just as I took from all those people.

I stared out of the mucky window too high up to reach and hugged my knees into my chest, all out of tears like I guessed I would be, and rocked. My eyes glued open, my mind always awake. I wouldn't sleep for another seven hours, at least.

But then something happened. I totally didn't expect it, although I wanted to expect it and smile inside when I realised I was right.

But I didn't feel right. And I didn't expect it.

'Wes…' I muttered, ashamed I think.

'Faith,' he replied all nonchalant, and I felt like I should get ready for some insults. But instead there was that familiar silence and locked gaze between us. Like we could communicate through looks. Except that we couldn't.

The clank of the metal door echoed through the section and I sat down. So did he.

He sighed long and my stomach started itchin'. Nervously, like. Pity, disappointment were a couple of things I imagined he felt for me.

'How are you holding up?' Oh. Unexpected. He'd never asked me that question before.

I didn't really know what to say. It was kind of moment of truth for me. Do I tell the truth, or try to hide the truth with a lie? I nodded quickly. 'I'm okay.'

'Hmm.' That momentary rumble of his throat rushed through me. I'd missed that voice.

But bigger things were preoccupying my mind, believe it or not. 'Erm…' I started quietly, and I think he noticed it was unlike me to think of something to say rather than just say it. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but…erm…what…' I took an intake of breath hurriedly to finish my sentence. 'What are you doing here?' I frowned kind of, hoping that it came out right.

Perhaps so cos next thing he's smiling, but just barely. 'I didn't get another letter asking me to visit. I wondered if you were okay.'

Suddenly the walls were goin' back up. I know he meant something by that. 'Just told you I was fine.'

'You haven't slept in days.'

I squinted and shifted a little. How would he know that?

'Your eyes are weary and you've yawned three times since you sat down. Why aren't you sleeping?'

'I don't need scrutiny, Wes; I have a shrink for that.'

I caught him taking a look around and then come to rest his gaze on this stupid book I have to keep.

'Diary?'

'None of your business.'

'The psychiatrist makes you keep one?'

'What is it to you?'

'It helps, you know.'

'And you're telling me this because…'

'Faith…' There was that sigh again. 'They're just trying to help. Trying to get those walls down that you so persistently work on keeping up, so no one can get through to you.'

I felt my gaze fall to my hands and he shifted a little on the camp bed. I should've mentioned a little earlier that Warden Jay had brought him to my cell. Told me it was okay, knew I wouldn't try anything, so it was safe. We would just talk. If that. I'm sure he thought it was like talking to a brick wall. I wouldn't blame him.

'Faith, no one's going to hurt you. They just want to help. But you have to want to be helped for them to be able to get through.' He took a breath and I looked up into his eyes, for the first time noticing the gentle hint of colour in them. 'It's the opening up that counts, you know,' he said, barely above a whisper, the rasp in his tone sailing through me as it always did. 'To me, it counts, anyway…'

Perhaps I should've stopped myself and deliberately not listened to him about the opening up, rather than leaning in and kissing him, wrapping a hand around the back of his head as I did. But maybe he liked it. Cos for a moment his hand was at my waist, as if to straddle it, then his other hand was pressing into my lower back, and we weren't kissing but, just…holding still, eyes closed, that silent reverie returning...

To cry was normally a thing far from normal for me, but to cry in front of someone else was alien for me. I think he caught the second tear with his lips, the first tear falling down my cheek and leaving a cold trail that I'm guessing he'd seen.

I pulled away immediately following that chaste kiss upon my cheek. I didn't really know what I was doing…but I probably shouldn't have kissed him. I shook my head quickly. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…'

He watched me as I rose from the camp bed and moved across the room deliberately turning away from him.

'Faith, its okay…'

'Could you just, go…please?' I mumbled, running hands back through my hair and clenching my jaw repeatedly.

Did as I said, thank god. Don't know if I could've taken any longer with him. Cos for a second then I think I loved something about him. Forgiveness, maybe.

The sound of the door opening and closing was my cue to let it out. I knew I would have to. Hittin' things didn't seem to be as effective anymore. And so I cried. And I cried. And I swear cryin' was familiarising itself far too much with me. But it would do for now.

Just for now.

* * *

**TBC**


	7. Who said anything about Hiding?

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment.  
**Pairings: **Wes/Faith  
**Rating:**M for language, themes etc

**A/N: **Thank you everyone for your reviews! This is a tiny chapter but I'll post again real soon!

* * *

Part 7 – Who said anything about Hiding? 

I didn't say anything. Just watched her tappin' her fingers non-stop as if it would help her to psycho-analyse me, and shot her a glare when I saw her lookin' at me, hoping she'd get the idea that her annoying habit was driving me insane.

'You've missed eight sessions, Faith.'

_So? _I wondered if she expected me to apologise.

'You know they're for your own benefit, Faith.'

Silence. Tap, tap, drum, drum, drum. Seriously was she ever gonna stop with that?

'We were finally starting to get somewhere, I mean, the diary approach was helping…er, like here, where you said "The dreams never bothered me. I'd never really had a nightmare in my life. Except for those 'Slayer' ones. But…I didn't really see them as nightmares. Mostly I dreamed of being a kid again. The arguments between my parents…"'

'You don't have to read it out to me, I know what I said,' I near enough snapped, pissed off that her way of "telling me off" was by patronizing me.

'Faith…' she sighed. 'I thought we were getting somewhere.'

'Hmm.'

She watched me for a moment as I slouched back in my chair, and soon she was sitting on the desk in front of me, looking down at me to try and catch my gaze. But instead of me looking into her eyes, I happened to notice she was wearing a mini skirt today…and the summer heat was doing its justice on her skin I could see. Lightly sun-kissed legs…for a moment I wanted to drool over them, but then I realized she was tutting at me and heading behind her desk again.

'Can I go now?'

'No; Faith, this is important. You have to agree to come to these sessions, and stick to writing in the book. We did have an agreement, Faith…'

'Chiara, I'm in a penitentiary, stuck either starin' at the walls, the mush that the cantine chicks like to call food, or lookin' atcha legs which, by the way can I just say are lookin' hot today…what the hell have I got to write about?'

'Warden Jay says there's a man that came to visit you a couple of times.'

_Shit. _I'd said about him in the diary but I was hopin' we'd never have to talk about him.

'Did you hurt him?'

I winced. Can't talk about it right now.

'Did he hurt you?'

And again. I slid a thumbnail into my mouth and started chewing.

'Faith…?'

Silence for a moment. I hoped she'd forget about him quickly and move on. No such luck when you're stuck with her for another half an hour.

'You can tell me, Faith,' she said quietly and soon her eyes were fixated on me and I refused to look at her.

I also refused to answer her…sort of a given. But why should she know how I'm feeling about Wes? What kind of business is it of hers? I mentally remind myself to screw the next few pages up cos I know I'm about to start talking about him, seeing as its bloody obvious that's all I've been thinking about.

So, Wesley. He's all busted up, lookin' tough and yes his body is toned nowadays. He looks rough – in the sense that he doesn't look like a priss – and I feel like I _want _him. Like seriously, full out would do the dirty, give us a surface and some JD first.

But a part of me's itchin to find out why he said it was okay after I kissed him. Did he want it too? Was he with someone? Did he like me? So many questions that I couldn't answer…but I needed to know. Needed to know like I felt more and more everyday like I needed to have him and I was suddenly jonesin' to find out what it was like to go with him.

He held me that day. And I know I already described that, but he held me, like fucking well held me. And for a moment I felt like that was because he wanted to hold me. Not because I was crying, not because I was a fucking pity and a mess, but because…maybe…he liked me?

He could so easily have moved away if he didn't wanna kiss me…daym. I couldn't shake the thought. Or stop wondering what it would be like…if I did take him…like right there in my cell; we could have…but I didn't want to at the time. Fucking good of me considering how long I'd gone without a fuck…

I wish he'd left me a number. I had minutes on the phone I'd never used, but my body was itchin' to hear his voice. Even if it was for a second.

* * *

**TBC**


	8. Need

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment.  
**Pairings: **Wes/Faith  
**Rating:**M for language, themes etc

**A/N: **Thanks again for your reviews! Again, this is a fairly short chapter. Any comments muchly appreciated.

* * *

Part 8 – Need

Today I started to need him. Like seriously straight up require him. Anything that was part of him, his voice, his body, his touch, a kiss. Something.

No amount of wondering would help me figure out why I was feeling this way, but I wrote like five letters pretty much asking him to come and see me. But then each time I got halfway through a sentence, I'd realize I was tellin' him that I needed to see him. Had to get rid of that word "need."

So I posted something incoherent and bit my fingernails off one by one, and went back to training to keep my mind off him. Then all of a sudden my mind is on Angel and what he's up to, then B, and if she's still alive.

Still too hard to talk about her so I'll put that aside.

Oh yeah, that whole power surge from a couple of months ago. I tried the meditation thing again, same thing happened. I just can't figure it out. I read the rest of that book, but nowhere did it say anything about what I was feeling. Although it was weird, like…I could always feel it. Like it was some sort of power resting inside of me; I just had to find it. Anyways.

So the letter must've gotten to him pretty quick, right? Cos like eight days later he was at my cell door again and I inwardly danced cos I was slightly horny.

But this time he had the whole nonchalance thing goin' on again, and stood literally just inside the door. Kay, so if we're havin' this kind of distance why not put some plexi between us, ey?

I took a couple of steps towards him, my eyes fuckin' wide as hell cos I'm shit-scared and in need of him right now, but worried what he'll do if I make a second move.

'Hey,' I start gently, hoping he'll loosen up in a minute.

He offers me a smile and returns the greeting. But he's as closed as my cell door.

'So…how are you?'

I'm guessing he didn't need to make with the small talk to butter me up, instead just dive straight into the good stuff. I never knew he had it in him when he slammed his lips against mine and my back hit the cell wall. Rough, sure…he knows I'd love it that way…but it made me want him more and I'm still not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

So the kiss was major passionate, like give us five more seconds and I would've been tearing his clothes off him. But then he slowed down, and wrapped his arms around me, and then we were just holding each other and his face was in my hair and mine in the dip of his neck.

Then the silence we wove so well moved between us. I decided I was beginning to love the way he felt against me and he smelled as good too. And if I was a man he'd be able to feel just how much I was in need of him right now…but I hope that didn't sound strange…

So I started kissing him again, hoping he'd catch on what my intentions were. You know, I think he did but pulled away from me as soon as he realized that I would not stop kissing his neck.

'Faith…wait, we should…we should talk…' he told me, his raspy tone having more of an effect on me that it usually did.

'No,' I decided and kissed him forcibly on the lips, clamping my eyes shut and feeling so much of what I could only comprehend right now as lust…maybe even love.

He pulled away a second time and I begun to get the picture. My heart sank and I released my grip on him. 'Oh. I see how it is.'

He crossed the room to the bed and sat down slowly, rubbing his thighs a couple of times, I think trying to think of what to say. When he finally looked at me, I realized that perhaps I was taking this the wrong way.

'I came here, because I had to let you know something.'

'Hmm. Bet I can guess what that is.'

He took a breath. 'You should probably sit down.' Now all of a sudden I'm wondering why this conversation's in need of that sentence. It's bad news, I'm thinkin' as I traipse and end up beside him, like that other time.

I'm lookin at him anxiously, and he's the same only his face is less frowny…and then the words are so fucking clear and simple that I hate myself for being able to understand them.

'It's Buffy. She's dead.'

Even quicker than I hear the words I know that there's a sudden pain that's gonna bother me for the rest of my life even though I hate her, and I'm sobbing and he's holding me and I need him to stay. And I deserve points for tellin him that, even if it was in an incoherent mess of sobs and cries. I still fucking hate her. But why is she dead?

Suddenly that doesn't matter and I'm begging him to stay and to hold me and to fuck him to help me forget. But he refuses and mumbles some shit about me being vulnerable and I don't care and I'm undressing.

So is he.

I didn't mean for things to go down this way. I didn't mean to tell him I loved him as his rhythm slowed and I wound down, shivers shooting through my spine still as the after pulses of my orgasm came over me, but I did, and now he knew.

He left and again I was in that ridiculously pathetic state of need again. I'd thought of Buffy as we fucked, and could only think of one event after the other, over and over. Buffy's death, Wes and I fucked. I couldn't believe either. I love the fact that Wes's scent is still on me, but that it reminds me of his words.

I need him to be here. I need Buffy to be alive.

* * *

More soon...


	9. Opening Up Still Counts

**Title:** Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer:** Please don't sue; purely for entertainment.  
**Pairings: **Wes/Faith  
**Rating:**M for language, themes etc

**

* * *

**

Part 9 - Opening Up Still Counts

He didn't come back and I didn't write to him. Angel visited but it wasn't the same. And it was done between plexiglass. And Warden Jay left.

One fucking insignificant day in my poor and useless excuse for a life stuck in my mind but I refused to let anyone know about it. Even when Angel asked me why Wes was acting so strange. He told me I was a useless liar. I told him I could give a fuck. That was all he was gettin'. For now anyways.

Then I realized how much I was keeping from Chiara. Everything. And she just wanted to help. So I went to Thursday's session and dropped the diary on the table and told her to flip to five pages from the end.

_Buffy Anne Summers. Sometimes I wonder if I love her. Or if loving her is my way of hating her. If that's the case, do I hate Wes too? And did I cry for him the way I cried for her because I loved him? Does this even make sense?_

Her facial expression got more and more negative as I watched her eyes scan and scan down each page, as I left in those pages about Wes, as I talked about Buffy dying, if I still had a calling and how the fuck I would move on from that, regardless of our past. She looked up at me after she reached the end, and took a long deep breath.

'I think I need to make some phone calls.'

* * *

It's the end of the summer, I'm caramel brown and not a day has passed where I haven't thought about Buffy. I pinch myself everyday to remind myself of the reality of her death as I look at the page I wrote about her and silently I let out a couple of sobs to remind myself that I'm human.

So check this out. Apparently Chiara's kind of high up in the penitentiary-food-chain system. She's getting me released. I still can't understand why. Apparently the reason why I'm here and not somewhere in England with the Council is because they intended to let me rot. As long as Buffy was alive.

But Chiara told me all this stuff about being given special orders for me; and not to ask questions (to the Council). Apparently they had the power to remove me from jail at any time. Fair enough.

I now had a calling. I had to get back out there and fight. And I had no choice this time. B wasn't around to do it with me. It was just me.

I let Angel know and he offered to put me up until I could get some stuff together and go to Sunnydale. I was so freakin' nervous. I don't even know why; I'd done all this shit before. Only difference was this calling was for real and Buffy was really gone. Her friends would hate me. I would deal with that when the time came.

So he came to get me the day I was released. Angel. Drove me back to the hotel, where I figured his crew would be, and I wasn't wrong. Wes was there. Along with a bunch of other people. I soon learned their names and didn't particularly care. Cordelia was there. Huh. Same as ever. Not interested in talking about her, just the ones that matter. Like Wes. He was there, and I know I said that before but I wanted to say it again just cos.

His eyes latched onto mine as I traipsed the steps down into the foyer and shook hands with Gunn. Another skinny girl came up to me and told me her name was Fred and she kind of reminded me of Chiara. I made a mental note to call her and speak to her in a couple of days and got back to being around the Angel crew.

I was kinda hoping maybe Wes and I could talk, and I was lucky that I didn't even have to ask for that cos everyone sort of dissipated and we were left in the foyer.

'Wes…' I said, my breathy voice echoing a little through the huge building.

He took a step towards me and I bit my lip. Either he would say something or kiss me. Or both. I hoped there was no other option available and then told myself to shut up cos he was taking steps towards me (slow…but definite steps) and keeping his gaze on me.

'You look good,' he said simply.

'Thanks,' I muttered almost bashfully, and clutched onto my tiny duffel bag.

'Are you staying?' He noticed the bag. Good or bad? I was always slow at these things.

I shrugged. 'For a little while. That okay?'

He kept silent and moved even closer towards me, took the bag. 'C'mon.'

* * *

The door clicked shut behind us and I thanked myself that he was okay with me staying here. So far we'd barely exchanged any words, but him bringing me up to a god awful looking apartment type suite (that I'm guessing was his) made me feel nervous. I figured I always get this way when he makes nice gestures.

I stood by the lounge area and waited for him to return to me. This place was gorgeous.

'Can I fix you a drink?' he finally said from the other room, and I took a couple of steps forward.

'Er…sure…whatever you're having.'

He returned shortly with some whisky and I smiled a little at the thought of my bag somewhere in his apartment, maybe in his room.

'Oh…please, sit down,' he said after handing me the tumbler and I felt his hand move to the small of my back to usher me into the lounge.

I downed the spirit, slightly wincing at whatever kind of alcohol he liked to call that. Strong, maybe…harsh…

'How come you're here?' he said after a couple of minutes, setting his drink down on the coffee table before him. I had a momentary thought of what it would be like to fuck him again and then shook myself from my trance and answered him.

'The whole Buffy thing…the Council are sending me back in. It's kinda over my head. Figured I would just agree. It's better than never seeing the world outside of four walls again.'

He smiled warmly and I caught his gaze on me before looking down into the palms of my hands.

'Is this your place?' I asked gently.

He nodded and I did too.

'It's hot.'

He raised an eyebrow and I became curious.

'What?'

He looked at me before questioning. 'Well what does that even mean? "Hot?"'

'Hot? It means gorgeous, beautiful…however you wanna put it, whatever…'

He chuckled a little. I wondered if he was making fun of me.

'Do you erm…' I winced at starting my sentence wrong. 'Can I…use your shower? It's this heat, makes me all…'

I think he was lookin' at me and I mean lookin' at me in the way that attraction makes you look. He uttered a "sure" and I followed him towards the bathroom.

'Wes?' I asked quietly as he flipped the bathroom light switch on. He hummed a yes as he gathered some towels and shit for me and I fiddled with the hem of my shirt getting that nervous feeling again cos I was gonna ask him something serious.

'Do you think about me?'

I saw him pause in doin' what he was doin' and then turn to look at me.

'Would it make a difference either way?'

One of those good or bad things again caused me to not answer for a while.

'Well, do you?' I asked again.

'Do _you_?'

'Yeah…_a lot_…'

'Me too…'

Okay so the follow up was a bit weird. He handed me towels and headed out of the bathroom. Maybe he was kinda shy.

I looked over my shoulder at him and furrowed my eyebrows. As much as I would've wanted to find out what that little conversation meant, I did actually need a shower, so I closed the door and hoped that afterwards I could find out what he'd meant.

* * *

Turns out I wouldn't get a chance to ask him for the rest of the night. Angel seeked me out and asked me if I could go destroy this demon thing goin' the streets. Just me and him. I think he wanted to talk to me alone, really. Could've asked someone else, but he asked me.

I didn't see Wes before I headed out. I think he was downstairs with everyone else. Even so. I took the weapons Angel gave me and we headed out, taking the Jeep and keeping our eyes peeled.

'So Wes your new thing now?' I wanted to ask him where that sentence came from and why he thought it was a conversation starter, but he had the right to, considering I was at Wes's place, and we hadn't exchanged a word since the hotel.

I gave it a moment. 'I don't really know.'

'What kind of answer is that; what's that mean?' he started all eepsy. I don't even know what that's supposed to mean.

'It means "I don't really know." How else could you say that?'

'Ahh, you could say you're lookin' into it, or you're not sure where you stand…'

'Why would I say I was lookin' into it, makes it sound like some sort of franchise...'

'How does it sound like a franchise?'

'Why are we even talking about this?'

He shrugged as he turned a corner and applied the brakes. 'I saw the way he looked at you when we got in.'

'So.' I got out of the car and equipped myself with my weapons. He got out too and we headed for a building.

'So! That look was dripping with issues.'

'What?' I asked quietly.

'Oh c'mon, don't tell me you didn't notice it…' he whispered as he busted the door open and stepped inside.

'No, I noticed…just…_issues_? You could say something different…' I mumbled, looking around at the place we were in.

'Why have you got a problem with my vocabulary?'

'I don't…'

'Yeah you do, first with the franchise thing, now the issues thing. It's not like I'm wrong.'

'You could be. Did you ever think that maybe we just don't…speak to each other?'

'He visited you in jail a good couple of times, telling me you didn't talk?'

'Erm…not so much,' I said, nearly in a sing-song voice.

He gasped and I thought maybe he'd found the demon. 'You did the dirty, didn't you!'

It seems the demon was hiding in a corner and I hurried towards it, and landed a roundhouse kick in it before it got the chance to notice I was there. I beat it up a little more and then used the pocket knife Angel gave me to slice its head off.

He hurried up behind me saying something I couldn't quite comprehend. 'It makes sense, all the visits, not telling me where he was going, then you not saying anything. Ooooh,' he said all excited. 'Wes and Faith. Who'd have guessed?'

'Can we just not talk about this right now? Are there any more of those things?'

'Not that I know of. We could keep looking for a while.'

'I dunno…looked like a one-of-a-kind thing. You did some recon on it before, right?'

'Yeah.'

'Did it say there was more than one?'

'No, but then again you never know with these things.'

I shrugged. If that was all the fighting I was doing for now I was happy. I needed to get back. Needed to talk to Wes. Startin' to get a slight case of the hornies. Fighting makes me that way.

'Let's get back,' I decided quickly, and we headed out the way we came in.

'Missin' Wes, are ya?'

'So Angel, I'm still a bit psycho, might kill ya if ya keep talkin' about him in the "us" kinda fashion. Plus this whole curiosity deal reminds me of…' I should've stopped talking before that sentence. Now my mind was on B.

'Reminds you of what?' he asked, his humour dying down a little.

I shook my head and stepped over some things to get out of the building. 'Nothing. Let's just get back.'

I shut the car door, took a breath and let my eyelids slip, waiting for him to get in and drive us home.

'It seems weird, huh,' he started. Sometimes I wondered if he was always this talkative.

I blinked my eyes open and glanced at him. 'What does?'

'Becoming the Slayer in charge, for real.'

I failed to look at him again and let my eyelids slide shut once again.

'It hasn't really sunk in yet.'

* * *

My boots scuffed along the wooden hallway leading up to Wes's place, and my body pleaded with me to let it sleep. Or at least fuck. Or eat.

I knew he'd probably want to just go to sleep and ignore what I'd asked him hours prior to patrol, but curiosity itches like a rash, one that I had to scratch out. Right now.

When I knocked upon his door, I sucked in a breath, knowing that I wasn't gonna let this whole thing slip. He pulled the door to and I saw the skinny chick in his lounge, pushing her glasses up her face. She was reading something and humming along to some music on the stereo. Huh. I offered him a timid smile as I stepped in and slid my jacket off my shoulders.

'Patrol okay?'

I shrugged. 'Easy. Hey…er…'

'Fred,' she reminded me quickly and I nodded.

'Of course.' She turned back to her papers and I looked at Wes. 'Am I disturbin' something here?'

He shook his head. 'We're just researching some things and I'm trying to get her into the system.' That tepid hand was at my back again, leading me into his bedroom and then moving to close the door. I would never get tired of that kind of touch. 'She's er…she's new.'

I raised my eyebrows a moment. 'I see.' I gave it a moment. 'Your chick. I dig.'

He moved towards me and shook his head. 'No, no she's not…'

'Oh?'

'She's knowledgeable of a lot of texts and so we research together…'

'Hmm.'

There was a silence and he pressed his lips together. 'So…'

'So…' I repeated gently.

He took a step in close to me and there it was again. The need to feel him around me, in me, close to me. The kiss was speedy. Like it was way overdue and we both wanted the same thing. I moaned into it and let his arms roam my body as the insatiable need to do it crept over me. He pulled away for a moment and mumbled some words that could get rid of his new friend if I wanted.

I continued to kiss him and let my fingers roam him and grab him and feel him, but then I slowed down and pulled back. 'Actually…I…erm…' I slid my hands over his arms and watched them as they did. 'I think maybe…I should sleep…' He nodded and I could see that this whole thing was no longer an issue. 'I'm wiped,' I continued, hoping he'd understand this too.

He made a gesture and nodded again. 'Okay,' he whispered solemnly and was planting a kiss on my forehead seconds later.

Then I was watching him leave the bedroom and catching a glance at him as he clicked the bedroom door shut once more.

I slumped back on the bed. This whole room smelled of him. I loved that. These sheets smelled like him. This felt like a bed from heaven. _I'd just said no to sex…_

I buried my face in his pillow and inhaled deeply. _Well fuck me._

* * *

**TBC**


	10. No Skin off my Knuckles

**Title: **Five by Five...Boss  
**Disclaimer: **Purely for entertainment. Please don't steal the characters I created though.  
**Pairings:** Wes/Faith  
**Feedback: **Always, please )  
**Rating: **R for language and talk of adult nature

**A/N: **I don't know if I ever mentioned that this fiction takes place somewhere at the end of S2 of Angel and S5 of Buffy, where she'd died because of the vortex. Anyways, spoilers (kind of), so just a quick note. Again, sorry for not updating for so long, had no time! So this is the next part. If you want to comment please don't hesitate, any ideas as well about where to go next with the fic because I haven't added to it for sooooooo long. So any suggestions are appreciated.

* * *

Part 10 - No Skin off my Knuckles 

Sunnydale. Kept rollin' round distractingly through my head. As much as I tried to roll over and go to sleep, I just had that one word falling into my thoughts over and over. And over.

So I thought I'd get up and train instead. Never mind that it was three, maybe closer to four in the morning. Some space, and a blindfold. I loved to train this way. Buffy taught me how to do it. Take away one of the senses and see how the others respond in fighting.

So I used the foyer. Listened as hard as I could to everything around me and then started to move in the ways I knew. Slow, fast, carefully, attentively. And at one point I swear I felt like someone was in that room with me. But I continued, gettin' my muscles back into the swing of having room to stretch and to work and to fight.

But Sunnydale just kept popping back into my head. I tried to force it out so I could continue training, but soon it was just too much. B was on my mind and going back to Sunnydale was beginning to scare me and I wondered if I would be able to face everyone I hurt.

I released a whimper as I tore the blindfold off my eyes and sat down on the floor, frustrated at the lack of concentration. _No, _I told myself. I had to push it back and focus. Otherwise I'd back out, and I couldn't do that. Sunnydale was now my calling, and I'd have to go back there, whether I wanted to or not.

I wiped the perturbed tears edging their way towards my chin and replaced the blindfold on my eyes, got up. Soon I was going for ten minutes, no break, and this whole deal of using the other four senses was working. I was more aware of touch and sound in particular…but I was getting a little tired. I practised a few back flip techniques and warmed down, and took off the blindfold.

So I _did _have an audience. Wesley. Half naked. Yum.

'Oh,' I said on the exhale. 'Hey.' I collected my shit and headed towards the stairs, itchin' for a shower.

'Do you always train that way?'

I shook my head. 'I never really got a chance inside. Not enough room…I was stretchin' my muscles out for real…needed it…'

I walked in silence beside him and caught him stealing a couple of glances my way.

'What?'

'It's really quite impressive.'

'Ey?'

He opened the door and let me go in first.

'The technique.' He closed the front door and headed into the lounge/kitchen. 'It's also er…rather "hot."'

Say what? That was a definite mock right there.

'I hope you ain't takin' the mick,' I told him as I headed into the bedroom to strip. I heard him chuckle and open the faucet to fill up the kettle. I threw the off-white ribbed vest I'd had on onto the bed and head back out to the lounge. 'Can I take a shower?'

He nodded, failing to look up at me and I kind of wanted his eyes on me at that moment. But I spoke too soon.

'Are you…not goin' back to bed, it's only like quarter to five…'

He shook his head slowly, and now I was happy that his eyes were settling on my tits.

'I don't er…sleep much…' Distracted much, Wes?

I let out a chuckle as I headed for the bathroom, pleased that he was attracted to me. It was a nice thought. It turned me on a little.

* * *

I hurried with my shower and found Wes in the lounge, dozing. _I don't sleep much, _my ass. 

I didn't wanna wake him so I pulled this thing out again, started scribbling and ended up sitting in his bed to do so, enjoying that it was comfortable and warm. And his.

You know I've really gotten into the swing of this thing. And I kinda like that helped me to get outta jail. Cos if I hadn't shown it to Chiara, well…I could still be in the five by five…put it that way.

Now's a good time for me to think about SunnyD. But annoyingly I can't really keep my mind on it. All I'm thinkin' of is knowing Wes is in the next room, and I'm in his bed. And we still haven't done the dirty…Imma go and wake him up. Details will come later.

* * *

First of I would just like to express; it is what it is, yo. Neat, hot, dirty, dirty, down right dirty. Pulled out some seriously bitchin' moves on me and I freakin' well buzz, man. I'm talkin' from head, to toe, y'all. 

Alright so this is what it is. Remember before I said I would wake him up, get him pumped? Well, check this out, y'all. I'm creepin' up on him on the couch, layin' my itchin' body into his, and it turns out man's already turned the keys in the ignition, warmed the engine up a little, if ya catch my drift. So a smile's on my lips, sneaky as all shit, man, and he's ready to go for a ride. And I'm seekin' it out, knowin' he's still half asleep, but thinkin' of me.

So I slide my hand into his boxers and sayin' hello to Mr. two point five litre, giving it a little handshake, and then he's moaning. Like seriously, you'd think he'd gone without a fuck for longer than I had. So I sunk my lips into his, hushing him up a bit, and then it's turning into some raunchy down and dirty shit; he's all of a sudden awake, takin' hold of my trousers and tugging at them. But he decides quick that it ain't workin' this way round and somehow he's on top of me, and dare I say it, IN CONTROL…of me. Haha. Yeah, _right. _

It's always me on top. Well. Was. Soon enough he was sliding it into me, easy, effortless and now _I'm _the one moaning. I tell him specifically to _not _go slow, and he's already strumming a fast beat rhythm and it feels soooooo good that I completely forget about what it's like to be on top. And whilst he's pumping into me, almost not hard enough, I feel him slink a well-toned arm up and around me, and at first I'm a little concerned that this could turn into a love-making session; but no, thank fuck…

Next thing I know we're now fucking upright, then we're not on the couch anymore but against the wall or door rather, cos my hip slammed into the door knob. Fucking ow. I didn't really give, too busy being fucked. That's all I cared about. How good the fuck was and how we just kept at it for freakin' aages, man.

After the door, it was the floor, then it was the couch again, then shit, the kitchen counter. Man. Still have the memory of that sensation of my sweating back against that cool marble counter, him pounding into me, his haggard breaths so sexy in my ear, his warm breath on my neck. So NOT the Wesley I knew four years back. Then, I'd never have thought he had it in him. And he became so silent, as if he was now concentrating on what I was feeling and how close he was bringing me, and making sure that I was okay. Like, his hand deftly placed in the dip of my back to prevent me from hurting myself on the counter, and then his other arms, snaked with muscles, propping us up on the counter. So hot, man.

Shit, that was fantastic, dude. Oh, shit! I almost forgot. Straight after the counter, we went back in the bedroom (where we are now) and he operated the tongue, dude. And I'm still grinning like a Cheshire cat at the thought of it. Not cos he went down, like. The effects on it. I'm talkin' one, two, three, maybe even four times I came, like straight after the other. And I have NO idea how he did it, dude. But I know that I have never, and I mean NEVER, felt this good before. I mean I must've came like what, eight times today? And the sun's barely come up. I am so fucked.

Fell back asleep after. Only for a little while, though. I got up to find him still sleeping, but I don't blame him. Still naked I might add. _Sweet. _The sheets are just barely draped over his ass. Nice.

So I thought I'd update that. Best almighty fuck of the year. K, so I'm not all for the soppy afterwards crap, but I'm watching him sleep and it's actually kinda nice. He's so peaceful. Such a contrast. Before he was this rampant, somewhat wild and dominative, animalistic figure, and now…now he's calm and at peace. He had a hard on in his sleep.

Just dawned on me.

Huh. May have to tease him later on.

* * *

**TBC**


	11. The Definition Of

**Disclaimer: **Purely for entertainment. Please don't steal the characters I created.  
**Rating: **R for language and talk of adult nature

**A/N: **Thank you for patiently waiting, as always it is very appreciated. Hopefully next update should be very soon.

* * *

**Part 11 – The Definition Of…**

So no one really told me why or how Buffy came to die, and having gotten out of jail less than a week back, I don't know if the guys were ready to sit me down and explain it all to me.

Wes and I had barely set foot outside of his apartment for the rest of that day and the day after that. I think some much needed sex-sessions had been in order. But seriously, after that, it was time for the more appropriate stuff, like the reason why I was now on the other side of the penitentiary walls.

I couldn't really sleep; I had kind of got used to that itching feeling inside of me everyday, forcing me to stay switched 'on.' So I got up, fixed myself a drink, something to eat. A sandwich. Man. I hadn't had a good sandwich in so long. I had a think to myself whilst I ate, about the whole situation on B, and what I'd have to do now.

I don't know if I woke him up or he was half up anyway but he came out of his bedroom all groggy, rubbing his eyes and padding along the floor towards me, grumbling something I couldn't understand.

'Come again?'

'What time is it?'

'Oh…' I glanced at the oven clock. 'Three-twenty.' Took a bite out of my sandwich. 'Can't sleep?'

'You were making a lot of noise…fumbling around in the kitchen…I see why…' Soon enough he was pressing his lips to mine (although my mouth was still half full with lettuce and cucumber and ham and all the rest) and giving me a little smile.

'Sorry…was hungry,' I told him as I held the sandwich up to him. 'You want some?'

He shook his head and sat down beside me at the kitchen counter. 'You don't sleep much, do you?'

I shook my head, more interested in chewing the food in my mouth.

'Eh. A lot on my mind,' I finally answered having cleared my mouth of food. 'This whole situation. Being here. B's situation. Being with you.'

'Being with me?' he repeated, as if it was something in need of discussion. _Not while a girl's stockin' up on sandwich, y'all._

I nodded.

'How do you mean?'

I shrugged. 'You know.'

He contemplated my words a little with a thoughtful expression and silently came to the conclusion that no, he didn't _know._ He shook his head with a growing grin and I couldn't help but mirror it. He was so hot when he grinned.

'Tell me what you mean by that.'

I sucked in a breath. God. Explanation. I never explained myself. I'd have to put down the sandwich for a few.

'It's kinda difficult…' I started, not really wanting to say what I really meant by 'being with him' and he knew it. I licked over my lips and tried to pass it nonchalantly. 'It's just what it is, you know.'

Had he not stopped my hand reaching towards the sandwich, I would've thought he'd comprehended my brushing off the topic. But I think he was seeing beneath that, and probing me to unfold a little.

Maybe I did.

I sighed quick and closed my eyes. 'Can I just have my sandwich, please, I'm really hungry,' I said quickly.

He shook his head and took it, along with the plate it was on. I watched him surprised, as he took it across the apartment and returned with a slight smile on his lips. 'Only if you tell me what you meant by that.'

I sighed. He wasn't gonna let me have it. He really wanted me to talk to him. _What would it hurt?_

I scoffed and watched him as he leant against the counter, mirroring my folded arms. 'So c'mon.'

I couldn't stop looking at him. I mean, look at him. Trying to get me to talk. I watched him a few good moments before rolling my eyes and mumbling a couple of stupid, incoherent words. 'It made me feel worth something.'

Explanation over. I headed for the direction of my sandwich, visible on the coffee table in the lounge. But _nooo. _He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back.

'No, no, no…didn't even hear that. Tell me what you _really _meant,' he said calmly, now pulling me in close to him and looking deep into my eyes. 'I promise I won't tell anyone.' And there was that gorgeous kiss, on my lips again. 'I promise.' Followed by that smile. _Gooood. _I couldn't have imagined this four years ago when B and I were back in that library meeting him for the first time.

I felt myself _relax. _Like honestly, my shoulders fell and I exhaled and my stomach sunk…but in a good way.

I drew in a breath slowly, still holding his gaze, and begun speaking, fully aware of his arms on me and his attention on me, solely. 'Being with you, it…' _I couldn't do this. _But then I felt him give me a little squeeze. I shook my head a little, aware that my eyes were portraying a look of something a little more desperate and sincere now. 'This is stupid, Wes.'

'No, it's not, of course it isn't…just…relax.'

So I did. Again. And took a breath. We were fully serious now. I even felt my jaw clenching a little. 'Being with you made me feel worth something. Not just a murderer who could care less. Being with you kinda made me feel…normal…and maybe…loved, I don't know…' I drifted off at the end, hoping he wouldn't have heard that word I said (by accident).

But now my eyes were at the floor, and I couldn't hold him back and I was hoping he'd just let me be. But I felt him slide a hand up, up my back, into my hair and rest at the back of my head. And then he was asking me to look at him, this gentle and warm voice, so un-invasive and true.

'Faith…' He waited for me to look into his eyes until he started speaking.

'Being with you made me realise how much I wanted to make you feel…loved. And I saw you before, broken and helpless and I wanted to hold you, and kiss you and…tell you…that…maybe I _could _fall in love with you. A strong, beautiful, misunderstood but beautiful woman. Lost. I wanted to be your found.'

What?! What the hell was he saying? That he _could _love me? Panic. No wait. I shouldn't panic because he was trying to tell me something that maybe wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe he meant it.

I could feel tears threatening to tumble down my cheeks and I knew my face was showing that of a surprised being. And then I was holding him back and we were holding each other and I'd found this new kind of, respect for him. Willing to help me, to find me, and maybe even to love me.

Hell knows I still wanted to get that sandwich, though.

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**TBC**


	12. Working With Wes

**Disclaimer:** Purely for entertainment. Please don't steal the characters I created.  
**Rating:** R for language and talk of adult nature.

**A/N:** Well I can't believe its over a year since I last updated. I recently started working on this piece again and I realised I had a chapter ready to be uploaded a very long time ago. Enjoy it, and thanks for waiting patiently if you are still following.

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**Part 12 – Working With Wes**

I spoke to Willow, and Giles today. They filled me in on everything I needed to know – luckily they didn't threaten to beat me with a stick. God knows they probably all still hate my guts, though. I wouldn't blame them.

Giles said something about needing Wes to get me back into the system; prepare me in as many ways possible for the…well…possibility of numerous amounts of Big Bads to deal with on arrival at Sunnydale. _I hope he didn't mean the Scoobs._

Wes had been such a sweetheart, dare I say it. He took me out, fed me, trained me, whatever else.

We ended up on the coast somewhere, far away and he stripped me bare, got to me, and it felt _so good. _And in no way was this sexual.

I laid my head back in my arms as I absorbed the warm sun and listened to his words. We'd been talking for what felt like ever, about supernatural forces and the vortex that apparently killed B, and what I might have to face back in Sunnydale.

It wasn't until he caught me out that I opened my eyes. 'You're not listening, are you?' he said sceptically, and when I opened my eyes to his expression, my own features softened, and I blinked slowly as I sat up and wiped the sand off my naked arms.

'How could I not listen to that voice?' I began as I shifted my weight onto my upper leg and pressed an arm into the sand.

He didn't particularly look impressed, but something beneath him I could tell was forcing him to accept that I was never a good listener.

He closed the ancient text he was reading from and slid it into a small black bag. 'Well I brought you out here for a reason, Faith,' he started, clearing his throat slightly.

I couldn't help but interrupt. 'To top up my tan?'

Again, not impressed.

I rolled my eyes and sunk back into the sand. 'To train, I know. Help me really experience the elements first hand; see I _was_ listening.'

'It's not just a sun-bed, being here, Faith, it's really important for you to learn how to tune into the elements around you. So that you might be able to channel them into your power.'

'I thought that was Red's job,' I said quickly.

Wes seemed to ignore that last platitude and stood up in the sand, his relaxed trousers hiding his feet. He took a few steps back and I quickly scanned the area behind him. We were practically alone. Within moments he'd begun some sort of funky martial arts sequence and I felt my senses begin to tighten. This was really impressive. There's just so much in him that I can feel myself gettin' attracted to, for instance the snaking of his muscles in his arms as he moved into every stance, the focus in his eyes, his body in it's entirety, and before I knew it, I was standing there right with him, and we were moving together, simultaneously, in unison. I can't explain it but the breeze of the ocean and the glare of the sun, the comforting sharpness of the sand and the swooshing noise of the waves lapping focussed me entirely. I felt my entire being allowing each muscle to become encompassed by my surroundings, by the movement, by _him…_

See I told you it was nothing sexual.

And back at the hotel we looked over more texts, and I introduced him to the blindfolded method in which we went at for around five hours, before he introduced the next step. He threw a sword into my hand and whilst I felt him in the space we duelled. I felt as though I was getting to know his body further and that by the end of the session I could sense anything about him. His breath, which muscles he was using, his footsteps upon the marble floor.

But I pulled off the blindfold for a break…and surprise. Angel was the one holding the opposing sword.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I wrapped the thin black material of the blindfold around my wrist. 'Wha…where's Wes?' I said, slightly out of breath.

Angel pressed the tip of the sword into the ground and balanced his weight upon the handle with the palm of his hand. He shrugged casually and swayed the sword from side to side gently.

'Did you plan this?' I began to realise as I crossed the open space to my cold water bottle. I sucked off the end and waited patiently for a reply.

'Not really. I came in; I guess you didn't really notice that…and for a moment you lost his position in which I grabbed the sword from him and we took it from there.'

'Sneaky.'

'I wanted to see if you could _really _tell the difference.'

'Between your fighting styles?'

He shrugged once again and raised his eyebrows.

'I thought Wes was just being a little more ruthless…hmm…_impressive…_'

I put down my bottle and approached him once again.

'I think you're the impressive one, Faith.'

'Are you kidding, I didn't even notice he'd gone. Where is he?'

'Upstairs.'

'Hmm.'

I dropped the sword for a moment to adjust my clothing, and as I knelt down to fix the bottom of my joggers, Angel held me at sword-point.

'Now if I was a demon, do you think I'd give you a round two?'

'If you were a demon, I wouldn't be taking a time-out.'

He held a hand out to me, and knelt down to pick up my sword. I took a step back from him and he threw it to me.

'Imagine I am. It's life or death and you need to get to the bottom of this. You've run twenty miles, chasing this evil down and now you've got him in a corner. It's now you have to eliminate the problem. He's the biggest threat and you have only one chance to get him. Now's it. Let's test your strength and durability.'

And somehow, we went, for like two hours straight. I didn't think it was possible, man. I mean with Wes and I we'd stopped and started, faffed around for a bit. But with Angel and I, it was non-stop as if I really _was _trying to get to the bottom of this. And daym, and _daym_ again he's so fuckin' strong. We really went for it though. But I got it; I won.

I hurried up the stairs afterwards, many cuts and scrapes familiarising themselves with my body, and I peeled off items of clothing as I traipsed the hallway leading to Wes's apartment. I slid off my top as I entered the apartment to find him buried under a pile of books.

'What on earth…?' he started as his eyes scanned my body, and quickly, _obviously _noticed the war wounds I'd acquired.

'I thought you were training with Angel?'

'Ey, shouldn't leave me alone too long with him, things get a little out of hand…' I said as I headed straight for the shower, removing clothing still.

He followed me into the bathroom and I proceeded to attending to my wounds. Obviously Angel hadn't really done this on purpose, but we were really going for it, and I suppose it's the best method.

I squeezed a wet flannel and tried to soak up the trail of blood coming from a sword-cut on my arm, but it seemed Wes felt that it was his priority to heal me.

He ushered me over to the edge of the bathtub and I sat down upon the edge, and he knelt down in front of me, opened up the flannel and folded it, and I hissed slightly as he pressed the material to my wound.

'I'm sorry…' he whispered as his eyes focussed intently on the wound, and I couldn't help but watch him watch this broken part of me.

'It's alright.'

We were both silent for a while as he cleansed it and dabbed it with a cotton wool full of antiseptic. I ballsed my fists and tried to ignore the pain but it did actually hurt.

'I wondered what was going on actually. You were gone for quite some time. I thought you would've noticed soon enough that I wasn't still there.'

'Hmm.' I was focussing on not yelling out in pain. 'It…ahh…' He mumbled another quick apology as I tried to finish my sentence. '…kind of turned into a fight for the death. We envisioned a scenario and let it play out.'

'And you won?'

'I actually did…_man this fuckin' hurts._'

He stood and reached for the faucet behind me. 'Here…' he turned up the heat for the powerful water and tested it. 'This will ease it off a bit.'

He disappeared for a moment and returned soon with a towel. 'Spend some time…let your muscles relax.'

He began to leave again but I reached out for his arm before the moment was gone.

'Stick around…?'

We crept into the shower and we stood and we leant into one another and I pressed my arms into the cool tiles of the shower and he cleansed my back, so carefully, tentatively. He cared for me as if I was a small butterfly with a torn wing. And soon he was attending to that itch I always got post-train/patrol/slay.

So deftly but gently, he entered me and withdrew; entered and withdrew. My back against the tiles almost directly beneath the showerhead, the water dispersing directly onto the tops of our heads, and both our moans were dulled by the drowning and engulfing sound of the water hitting the bath tub.

Later on, he read to me some more. We sat in bed, he splayed books left, right and centre and I propped my head up in my hand as I laid on my side and listened to him with my eyes closed.

But I really _was_ listening. To every word. And for a minute, just one, I regretted having to say goodbye to him to go to a place where I was needed and not wanted. But to be wanted rather than needed…isn't that something more important?

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**TBC**


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